


The Musical Resurrection of Maxwell Rayner

by Gods_bastard_child



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, People’s Church of the Divine Host, Set ambiguously after MAG72/73, What is an OC but a small (evil) musical plot device? Or alternatively a sacrifice?, so all mistakes can be blamed on my overconfidence in my grammar skills, the TMA timeline is already incomprehensible anyway, this idea came to me at unholy hours and is completely un-betad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gods_bastard_child/pseuds/Gods_bastard_child
Summary: If Agnes can be a ghost (supposedly) why can’t other mostly dead avatars? Manuela Dominguez decides to test that theory through Maxwell’s favorite song.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	The Musical Resurrection of Maxwell Rayner

It was all ready. The fresh host, the brackish water, and most importantly, the summoners who would restore the People's Church to its former glory.

The Dark that surrounded the basement's occupants was more complete than anything to be found in this world. Manuela Dominguez felt the rightness of it coursing through her, tinged with the fear she had come to love. Two of the three people in front of her weren't quite as appreciative--she could hear their terrified whimpers, even through the gag that one of them wore. Even her fellow worshipers were shifting restlessly behind her; their movement rippled briefly through the liquid lapping at their ankles before it once again became as still as night.

"People of the Dark," Manuela said, not bothering to turn to face them. It's not like they would be able to see her. "The moment of our rebirth is upon us. Before you, you see--well, you don't see, I guess you'll have to take my word for it-" she frowned down at the Darkness obscuring her cue cards, wondering if she should have asked someone to proofread her speech "-but before you is our new leader. Granted, he is not much now. Some nameless worker of a night shift with the generosity to feed our god so well and so often."

The former night worker tried to yell something through his gag that the discerning ear might have been able to interpret as 'Michael', or perhaps 'Mitchell'. Unfortunately for him, discerning ears were not an abundant trait among the People's Church of the Divine Host.

Manuela continued, ignoring the muffled interruption. "But soon, he shall have the honour of being the new body of the man we all knew as Maxwell Rayner. The most worthy sacrifice he could ever make in his pitiful life." The dramatic echoes following her proclamation were that of a space much larger than the warehouse basement the congregation occupied.

"As you all know, it was in this very spot, not two years ago, that he perished. Struck down by a few puny humans without even the Hunt to guide them. We all felt the pain of it as if we ourselves were suffering the fate of our great leader.

"But those humans are not here now. Nor are the Montauks, or those meddling fools of the Magnus Institute. Even Gertrude Robinson never had the power to reach beyond her grave. No, today we are free to triumph! We shall be restored to our former magnificence in the Dark's fearsome depths! People of the Church of the Divine Host, listen as Maxwell is returned to us to reign once more!"

From the inky blackness in front of Manuela, Mari Gibson lifted her bow to a pitch-black cello with the grace of innumerable practices. She was one of the newer recruits to the People's Church--a talented musician in a past life, whose unfortunate blinding left her bitter at a world that cared not for those who had been abandoned by the light. Since then, her music no longer speaks of joy and sadness and hope. Listeners would find themselves weeping, to be sure, and unable to cease as their tears turned against them and bored deep into their sockets.

Her music was not unfamiliar to the gathered congregation as it swelled through the Dark. Indeed, a few of them found themselves humming along to the low notes. The haunting tones would not be enough to call Maxwell's spirit by themselves, though, which was why Manuela had rather forcibly recruited the singer that currently stood trembling on Michael (or Mitchell's) left.

Cairo Mäkinen never wanted to have anything to do with the People's Church. If someone had told them a few months ago that they'd soon be taking part in a ritual to summon some long-dead 'avatar of Darkness' (whatever the hell that meant), they would have cheerfully laughed in that person's face. Unfortunately for them, they had a tendency to sing when they got nervous. Nothing special; it was usually just a few snatches of whatever song they had listened to most recently.

A few months ago, a series of incidents with a shadowy stalker led to them being in the wrong place at the wrong time--which in this case happened to be the 24-hour laundromat in the middle of the night, singing Lost in the Cosmos quietly to themself. The member of the People's Church that had been terrorizing them, having heard fragments of Manuela's plan, figured he could perhaps curry favour with Manuela and even Maxwell if he provided a singer for the summoning. He was partially right--Manuela was quite happy with Cairo's skill--but she forgot their captor's name almost as soon as he had left the room. Cairo had been forced to rehearse one song ever since, and they opened their mouth right on cue now.

Between Cairo and Mari, Michael (or Mitchell) began to thrash against his bonds. All he knew about what was going on had come from Manuela's little speech--the last thing he remembered before waking up here in the Dark was dashing away from the shadows that had been plaguing him at his job for as long as he could remember. But as the song grew stronger, sung from a hundred night-touched throats, he could feel the presence of something begin to emerge, sinking into him. Thus he panicked and pulled at the ties which bound him to what was probably a chair, trying to escape what he instinctively knew would not be a good fate.

He was right. A soul that was not his overtook him more with every repetition of the song's most important phrase.

_"Hello darkness, my old friend."_

**Author's Note:**

> I have nothing to say for myself.


End file.
